


Growing Pains

by Shut-Up-Ginger (Chameowmile)



Series: Growing Pains [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt and comfort, JEDI AU, Lightside au, it's all very soft, it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chameowmile/pseuds/Shut-Up-Ginger
Summary: Out of the Opress brothers, Feral's the only one who never got picked as a padawan. So, with his eighteenth birthday looming, he can't help but feel a bit dejected.Well, he probably could, but that doesn't mean he wants to.Master Che, meanwhile, does /not/ tolerate moping.
Series: Growing Pains [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194107
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	Growing Pains

Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments. Maybe that’s why Feral never got picked as a padawan. He cares too much about his brothers, and now that they’re both off on missions of their own, Maul a _Jedi_ , and Savage a seasoned padawan, he feels hopelessly lost and left behind.

He’ll be eighteen in just a few hours, and although he _knows_ the Jedi aren't going to punt him out onto the street for _daring_ to grow up, it still feels like his doom is imminent.

Things are never going to be the way that he wants them to be, and tonight is the final nail in that coffin. It’s never just going to be him and his brothers, not ever again, and he’d maintained some hope-- but now...

They’re not _brothers_ anymore. They’re competitors.

And he’s the one who didn't reach the finish line.

Tonight he finds himself in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, tucked away behind a small waterfall, in a meditation nook that he used to frequent when he was very young.

Nowadays the plant life around it has become terribly overgrown, and it’s pretty hard to get to. So he guesses he’s definitely lost it, because now there are thorns in his robes, and he's pretty sure this is where frisky padawans like to go for privacy. So, definitely not ideal.

But he’s pretty determined to mope right now, so if the shitty walk and questionable location have put him into an even worse mood, so be it. 

He never gets time to his own thoughts.

It’s always, ‘ _cheer up’_ , and, ‘ _meditate, let your feelings go'_.

Savage was always on him for being too emotional, veering _too dark_ , letting his feelings get the better of him like Maul’s sometimes do.

But it’s not like he’s actually going to become a Jedi, and he’s definitely not like Maul, so he’s never felt particularly _seen_ by the concern. Being told he’s screwing something up isn’t _comforting_ when he’s already frustrated _because_ he screwed something up.

So nine times out of ten, it’s just a matter of letting it all build up inside of himself, until he can skulk off and have himself a decent cry.

In a spooky cave, in the middle of the night.

As you do.

He goes to scrub some of the tears from his eyes, but flinches as a thorn scrapes his cheek, frustratedly plucking it loose, and tossing it aside.

An artificial night sky has been projected across the ceiling and walls of the fountain room, gleaming softly through the waterfall, and it makes him feel surprisingly uneasy. Like he’s not on Coruscant anymore, but Dathomir, where the stars are still visible.

But Dathomir doesn’t have running water like this, and the sky is often foggy red after Sunset, so he doesn’t know why it makes him feel that way. If anything, this should remind him of the trip he took to Naboo. Peaceful and kind.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, residual nightmares prickling in the back of his mind. He barely even remembers Dathomir, it exists more in his dreams than his reality these days.

Right now he's running on fumes, head buried in his arms, ignoring the thorns that are prickling all over his body now.

Behind the rushing of the water, he can’t _hear_ anything, so it’s only through the force that he realizes someone is approaching. Stiffening in fright because it’s _way_ past curfew, and also pre-emptive embarrassment, because he really doesn’t want to see which padawans have decided to come for a jaunt tonight.

He honestly contemplates ducking through the waterfall for an escape, wet robes be damned, but a familiar voice interrupts his panic before he can get _too_ crazy.

“Feral. I know you’re hiding in there.”

He grimaces, once more contemplating a run for it-- but he’s already been identified-- so he gives a petulant whuff instead and hugs his arms around his knees. Refusing to answer.

His visitor is entirely undeterred.

And soon she arrives, Vokara Che, annoyance radiating nearly as thickly as her concern.

He hates it. He just wanted to be left alone.

She looks around the little nook with a frown, probably thinking the same thing _he_ was when he showed up, and puts her hands on her hips. She’s a lot more dressed down than he’s ever seen her, basic training robes, and no accessories, which lessens her mystique and intimidation factor a bit.

Not that he’s ever been particularly intimidated by her. He’s known her since she was a runty teenager, covered in baby drool. Usually his _own_ baby drool.

“Feral, why don’t you come on a walk with me?”

He _should_ continue ignoring her, _but_ …

“Because I don’t want to.”

She rolls her eyes, “Get up. It’s cold in here.”

_Ugh_. But she kind of has a point. He’s freezing. Zabrak aren’t great with the cold, and his temperature regulation is already screwed up with exhaustion.

But it doesn’t mean he has to _tell_ her so.

He stands, putting on his _best_ Opress brother glare, but he knows it isn’t working because she just reaches over and starts plucking thorns from his tunic, like he’s a toddler who rolled in some grass.

Which is probably a sign he’s not ' _falling into darkness_ ’ or whatever, since she certainly wouldn’t be testing him so much if that were the case. 

He deflates at the failed attempt, and she makes a gentle sound, ushering him back out into the garden with a hand on his back.

The stars are a bit less disorienting from here, because he can tell they’re fake, but that almost makes him more miserable, and he doesn’t know why.

Master Che points to one especially bright projection to the left, and says, “That’s where Maul is right now.” and then she traces over to a different galaxy cluster far toward the right, “And there’s Savage.”

“They’re so far apart.”

He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s stupid, and defeats the whole silent and bitchy thing he was aiming for. 

But he’s never liked the thought of Maul being alone. He’s strong and independent...but now that he’s a Jedi, he really doesn’t have anyone around to keep him company. It’s just him and his missions, all alone with his thoughts. 

They want him to take a padawan, but Maul’s too afraid of screwing it up, so he never has.

And sure, that’s all just one big part of growing up around here, but it makes Feral feel cold and squeamish just thinking about it. Like his brother’s gonna die lonely and hopeless if he doesn’t change something soon. Or worse, _embrace_ that loneliness and leave them all behind.

Master Che squeezes his shoulder, pulling him out from his thoughts.

“You’re _very_ tired.”

He sighs, but knows better than to start with the excuses because healers hate that. So he doesn't answer at all, shrugging petulantly.

She rolls her eyes, pulls another thorn from his tunic, and says, “You have some presents to open.”

His voice comes out sharper and more defensive than he means it to when he says, “It’s not my birthday yet.”

And the look she gives him is far too knowing for his liking. “We’re not _disowning_ you.” She scolds, "Don't be so contentious."

Again, he keeps his mouth shut. Because how is he supposed to explain what he’s feeling? Most initiates want to be Jedi, of course they do, but most have alternative paths that they take when that fails. They join the Agricorps, become creche masters, or even go off to pursue their own interests and careers outside of the order.

But he doesn’t have _anything_. Just his brothers, and there’s no path he can take that will keep him close to them now.

They’re halfway across the galaxy, and he’s just _here_ , wallowing in a fake forest underneath a fake sky, with a crabby healer bossing him around.

His breathing feels tight, and he can’t tell anymore if he’s going to cry, or just have a panic attack.

Either way, Che does something with the force and it makes him feel calmer. She leads him out into the temple, and he's suddenly on the verge of sleep thanks to whatever she's done. Which is probably a good thing, but it doesn’t feel like it.

In the new lighting, she sizes him up with a frown. “You scratched your cheek.”

And he touches the mark that the thorn left, finding faint wetness, already sealing over. “It’s not gonna kill me.” He mutters, though he hadn’t realized it was actually scratched at all. So after a moment of her squinting accusingly at him, he just goes ahead and heals it with the force so that she’ll _leave it_.

She likes seeing him use his healing, so it makes her smile, turning back to the front.

The candles out here make everything feel warm and cozy, like their old hut on Dathomir, where he was the world’s most annoying toddler, and hadn’t gotten used to the concept of _not_ being nocturnal yet.

Force, did he _ever_ get used to it? Tonight seems to suggest _no_.

Master Che leads him to the Halls of Healing, and that _should_ annoy him, but it doesn’t. The atmosphere in here is always peaceful, and tonight there aren’t any patients, so it’s just the two of them.

She has him sit in a comfy chair by the reading nook, and then wanders off to rifle through the cabinets, leaving him in sleepy silence for a time.

When she returns, she asks, “What is it that you admire _most_ in your brothers?”

“Why?”

“Because admiration leads to aspiration. And I want to know what it is that you _think_ you’re supposed to be.”

He scowls. “I’m not in the mood for philosophy tonight.”

“Goodness. Maul and you are _so_ alike.”

And that _shouldn’t_ make him proud, since he knows Maul was a _nightmare_ for the temple when he was this age...but, well… he’s a zabrak and sometimes _trouble_ is just in his blood.

She must sense that, because she gives a small laugh, sitting in a chair across from him, where she reveals a small dropper-vial with some liquid in it.

“This will help you sleep. One drop before bed-- and _no_ drinking water after dinner time. You’re not the only nocturnal around here who gets antsy after dark.”

He accepts the vial in mild embarrassment, pocketing it gently, but is fairly certain that it won’t help him in the end, because, “Actually I’ve just been having nightmares.”

Abd this catches her concern immediately. His visions of the future have _always_ plagued him, and they _always_ come true, in one way or another. It’s just one of the _many_ reasons why nobody wanted him as a padawan.

Because how do you teach a student to be impartial and patient, when they're constantly paranoid about the future? Trying to change it? That’s as much a path to the dark as attachment is.

But this dream is different. It’s not just some vision of him _failing_ a biology test, or making a crecheling cry, it’s _scary_ , and steeped in unfamiliar imagery.

“What have you seen?”

“It’s…” He tries to find the words, but they're clumsy. “It’s confusing. I’m older. On a battlefield, and I see this Mandalorian, in strange white armor. I know him somehow. I’m _worried_ about him, I thought he was _dead_ , so I run over and I greet him. I give him a hug, ask him if he’s okay. But something is wrong in the force. And he asks me if I'm a Jedi...because he doesn't think I act like one. _"_ A frown as he tries to piece the memories together. " And sometimes that’s where the dream ends, but others, it’s the way I answer that decides. If I say no, I wake up in a panic, feeling terribly sick and scared. But if I say yes, he shoots me in the chest, and… it’s like it _really_ happened. I can feel it still. It hurts.”

If her concern could get any more vivid, she’d be sedating him, but instead she grimaces, sizing him up.

“The dream I have no answers for. But the pain and racing panic could be a sign of heart desynchronization. You should have come to me sooner. An arrhythmia might even explain your poor sleep.”

He gulps at the thought, clutching his robes to his chest in fright. Just _another_ thing to make him different.

“I can’t be a Jedi if I’m _sick_.”

“Youngling...you were never going to be a Jedi anyway.” She touches his cheek then, apologetic and gentle. “It’s not your path. I’ve foreseen it.”

He already knew that, but it still feels like a slap to the face. “Then what _is_ my path?”

“Your path is with your brothers. You already know that.” She smiles, and withdraws her hand, continuing softly. “Savage was knighted yesterday, and he’ll be stationed with Maul from now on. Much the same treatment that twins are granted… but _you_ my dear, you’re the piece that keeps them sane, and it would be beneficial for you to be with them too.”

“What.” He mutters, annoyed that Savage didn’t call to tell him. “As their _mechanic_ or something?”

“Not quite. Maul’s appealed to take you as his padawan, and the council has agreed.”

That sounds _super_ against the rules, and he doesn't dare let himself get excited about it, snapping, “You _just_ said I’m never going to be a Jedi.”

“Not all padawans graduate.” She retorts, reaching back to grab a small box from a bookshelf. “The force has assured us that this is the right path for you to take. A weight off everyone's minds, really, your clairvoyance can be frightening.”

He wants to believe her optimism, but his visions haven’t left him cheerful, so the council might have a point about that one.

She holds the little box out, and he takes it. But he already knows what’s inside before he opens it, pulling the lid off and sighing in _mild_ misery.

A padawan strand. Three different ones, actually. One gold, one silver, and one _rose_ gold, all twisted together into a single article. The gold one was Maul’s, the silver Savage’s, and the rose, he assumes, is his own.

It feels _artificial_. Like he hasn’t earned it. But he holds it tight against his chest anyway, mumbling a dejected, “Thank you. I’m guessing this is the present you wanted me to open?”

“Oh, not at all--” and she gets up, stalking back over to her cabinet, which she rummages through once again. This time returning with two boxes and a few more sleep medications. These ones force suppressing, for worriers like himself.

“Make sure you take these with _food_ . And eat late, ‘cause they’ll knock you out in _minutes_.”

He accepts them a little warily, but pockets them alongside the first, promptly bombarded by the larger of the two boxes, which he accepts on reflex. 

“This one is from _me_.”

He isn’t sure what he did to earn a present from her, but he nods, praying he likes it, because she’ll absolutely know if he doesn’t.

But the worry is unfounded, because he finds, inside the box, a collection of books-- _real_ books, like they had on Dathomir. They're about healing. Both with the force and without. Along with a small medical bag, and a starter set of tools and supplies.

“Is this your way of trying to convince me to be a healer again?” He laughs, closing the lid gently.

“You’d be good at it.”

“But I don’t want it. You know that.”

“No.” She teases. “You just don’t want to be stuck on Coruscant. There’s a difference.”

And she right, but of course he still won't tell her so. At the very least it brings a smile to his face, but this is getting too _sappy_ for him, so he points to the littler box.

“What’s that one?”

“Gift from the crechelings. You’re their favorite kata teacher.”

“Obviously. I’m the best.” and he accepts it too, popping it open with genuine fondness. The contents bring him some pause however, and he laughs.

“Cupcakes?”

“I tried to tell them that zabrak can’t taste sweetness, but they didn’t listen.”

“Of course not. _Science_ is boring.” and he pulls one out, taking a bite. It mostly tastes like vaguely chocolate-flavored bread to him-- but he does like chocolate, and as much as he shouldn’t be eating grains, he also likes bread. 

And for once, he feels a little less like the world is falling apart on him.

  
Maybe he'll see his brothers soon, if Maul is coming to get him.

**Author's Note:**

> My only motive for this was for Feral to get a cupcake, that's it. Now I've accidentally made an AU and I've vaguely obsessed with it.


End file.
